














Little Stories of Great Pictures 


by 

Virginia Heath and Frances Fairfield 

'\ 

“Ye are better than all the ballads 
d'hat ever were sung or said ; 

For ye are living poems, 

And all the rest are dead.” 

— Longfellow' s “ Children" 




Published by 


L. H. Nelson Company, 

Portland, Maine 




^ ^ b '4/ 


A Visit to the Studio 


library of coNGRessi 
Two Copie* Received 

NOV 21 1903 

Copynght Entry 

W V®- 
-I I 



— t iom painting by Adam 

Four little kittens sat in a row 
Feeling a bit forsaken. 

Because their mother had left them all 
To have their pictures taken. 

She had given each a good-bye kiss. 
And said to the artist “ Whether 
You get a» ggo4 J'icpire ^or not. 

They musL*bi*t^k/jT.tcJgftfej.Z’ 


So four little kittens sat in a row. 

The artist talked, as artists will — 

“ Look pleasant now, hold up your heads. 
And every one sit still.” 


The queerest part of it all was this— 
They seemed to be having such fun 
They forgot all about the picture. 
And never knew when it was done. 

Three sat up and one sat down, 

And though it took but a minute. 
Every one looked a different way. 
But all four kittens were in it. 


• • • ♦ « 




Why the Puppies Went Too 



“ Oh, Mother,” five gay puppies cried. 
Pressing close to their mother’s side, 

“ Something strange has happened today 
To the pretty neighbors over the way.” 

“ What was it, dears,” the mother said. 
Gently patting each curly head. 

“Why, this is it, dear Mother, look. 

The kittens had their pictures took ! ’ ’ 


(Now “took” was not the proper word. 
As these five dogs had often heard. 

But when a puppy loses his senses. 

He quite forgets his moods and tenses. ) 


- — From painting by Couldery 

“ They say it didn’t hurt a bit. 

Not so much as having a fit. 

Now, Mother dear, we pray that you 
Will let us have some pictures too.” 

When each one said he’d be “so good,” 
And act just as a puppy should. 

Their mother gladly had them “ took,” 
And this is how the puppies look. 







Close Friends 



Busy as bees thro’ all the day, 

Both child and dog have been at play — 
Coaxing the puppies out to walk, 
Teaching the baby how to talk. 

Picking flowers from the pansy bed, 
Waiting to see the ponies fed. 

Chasing the kitten up a tree. 

Trying to catch a bumble bee. 


— From painting h\ Holmes 

Teasing the cook for cake to eat. 
Making a boat of the garden seat. 
Scaring the hens almost to death. 
Running until quite out of breath. 
Lying down on the soft warm grass. 
Watching the pretty shadows pass. 
As up and down they softly creep — 
While dog and baby go fast asleep. 




An Anxious Mother 



— From painting by Holmes 


“ If it isn’t enough to drive one wild, 

This having the care of a nervous child. 

There’s my youngest puppy just six weeks old, 
The veriest baby — too little to scold. 


But he’ll not keep still a single minute. 

If mischief’s brewing he must be in it. 

He’ll race to the house to play with the men. 
And scamper right back to hunt up a hen. 


Miss Anna’s a child, so she doesn’t know 
That a puppy must rest in order to grow.” 



Rosa Bonheur 

O V E R in sunny France, a long time ago, 
was born a little girl named Rosa Bonheur. 
H er father was an artist and from him she received 
her first lessons in painting. Though famous 
when only nineteen years old, she was not satisfied 
until she became almost the best painter of 
animals in the world. To do this she had to 
watch their daily life, and to go often into places 
so rough that she was obliged to wear her father’s 
clothes. Yet she persevered, and won every 
honor France could bestow. 

She finally grew so absorbed in studying 
animals that friends coming to call on her were 
often frightened by the wild creatures she kept in 
her home. 

No woman and few men ever painted horses 
so life-like as those in her picture called “The 
Horse Fair,” which you may see in the great Art 
Museum in New York. 


— From painting by Rosa Bonheur 






The Horse Fair 


— From painting by Rosa Bonheur 

TF YOU go into the Art Museum in New York on a Sunday afternoon when admission is free and the poorest can 
* feast their eyes on the great art treasures of the city, you will always see a crowd of people around this grand paint- 
ing. It is considered Rosa Bonheur’s masterpiece and was painted a long time ago, in 1853. After being owned by 
various people it was bought for fifty-five thousand dollars by Mr. Vanderbilt and given by him to the Metropolitan 
Museum, where it now hangs. 

So closely had Rosa Bonheur studied horses that she painted them exactly as they are, and that is perhaps one 
reason why so many horse lovers always linger before this picture. Florses show their dispositions as plainly as 
people, and if you will look at their various attitudes, you will see how the artist reveals their good or bad nature, their 
calmness or terror and their pride. 



A Noble Charger 

T his horse with broad, intelligent 
forehead, almost human eyes and 
small, pricking ears, looks a hero of his kind. 
He must be one that would readily learn 
the meaning of the bugle calls and com- 
mands used by the cavalry — halting and 
wheeling of his own will. If kindly treated 
he would surely be a good friend to his 
master, never deserting him in battle. 

A good story is told of a young man who 
once taught a horse to kneel. Years after- 
ward as the man lay wounded on the 
battlefield he saw the same horse galloping 
about, riderless and terrified. He called to 
the horse and the frightened animal soothed 
by the old familiar voice came near. The 
soldier persuaded him to kneel and to remain 
in that position until by desperate effort he 
climbed upon his back. The brave animal 
with wonderful instinct found his way 
home, bearing his old master to friends and 
safety. 

— From painting by Rosa Bonheur 



Jack in Luck 

^^TACK in luck ” — the old Dutch 
I artist calls this quaint picture — but 
which is Jack, — boy, dog or pony ? I like 
to fancy, though it cannot be true, that Jack 
is the boy who saved Holland, and that the 
pony was given him as a reward for his 
bravery. Do you ‘ know the old story ? 
A little lad returning from his play at dusk 
found a leak in one of the dykes which keep 
the water from sweeping over Holland. At 
once he stopped the leak with his finger and 
cried for help, but no one heard him. He 
dared not take his arm from the leak, and 
there in spite of cramp and cold, he staid. 
In the early morning some workmen found 
the exhausted little hero. The story of this 
one brave deed is all we know of him, but 
let us hope that he was rewarded in some 
way. 




— From painting by Reichert 



In Disgrace 

Is this Miss MufFet, 
Who sits on a tuffet, 
Waiting for bread and whey ? 
It’s Miss Dotty, 

Who was naughty, 

And wouldn’t eat 
Her bread and meat, 
But tried to make 
Them give her cake. 

Is it a spider 
Sitting beside her ? 

Oh, no, ’tis her dog Tray. 
When Miss Dotty 
Was so naughty 
As not to eat 
.Her bread and meat, 

He went and hid — 

This doggie did — 

And waited till 
It all was still. 

Then he crept out 
(No one about) 

This wicked pup ! 

And ate it up. 

So now he, too. 

Is feeling blue. 

Because now he 
Must punished be. 

So spoiled is all their fun. 
And now the story’s done. 


— From painting by Barber 








An Armful 

“To carry my dollies and Rover 
Is all I am able to do. 

I wish mamma wouldn’t ask me 

To hold up my petticoats too.” 







To the Right into Line 



— From painting by Lambert 


Holding themselves as stiff as starch, 
Some frisky kittens are trying to march. 
Not far away the Captain stands, 
Giving so many strange commands. 
The little soldiers are much perplexed 
To know what order is coming next. 


They’d like to jump and skip and run. 
Stand on their heads and have some fun. 
But no ! They’re learning how to march. 
So they must be as “stiff as starch.” 
They’ll be off duty bye and bye. 

But now they mean to march — or die ! 





Three Members of a Temperance Society 


— From painting by Herring 

* I *^HESE three cronies have met to enjoy a drink of their favorite beverage, and the artist who painted them was 
evidently one who had often watched horses drink. Did you ever notice them? On coming to the tub, unless 
it is a familiar place, the horse steps far back and sniffs suspiciously. He then stretches his long neck forward and from 
the farthest distance possible, with every muscle stiffened ready to spring, he takes a few preliminary swallows. 1 suppose 
that is the way his ancestors, the wild horses, did. If not disturbed he relaxes and has a good comfortable drink, then 
raises his head and lets the water trickle slowly from his mouth. If you are waiting to check him look out for a 
shower-bath ! In our picture the horse with his ears back has reached this stage. The white horse has finished and is 
ready to gnaw the edge of the tub, which makes a choice morsel after the feast. 





—From painting by Dtiker 


Hunter’s Delight 

W HAT a proud and happy dog! 

This is his first hunting trip, for 
he is only a puppy. When his master 
sent him for the bird he had just shot, Rex 
could not find her, so rather than disappoint 
the one he loved so much, he looked round 
for something to take her place. 

An unlucky rabbit ran across his path, 
and after a most exciting chase he killed her. 
Here he goes to his master, expecting praise 
and welcome. Alas for poor Rex 1 His 
business in life is just to hunt game birds, 
and it is only by hard lessons that dogs can 
be taught what not to do. What a dog’s 
life Rex must lead until he learns 1 But 
that will not be long — he is such a bright 
dog — and before the hunting season is over 
his master’s friends will hear wonderful tales 
of Rex’s sagacity. 



A Son of the Desert 

A L L the mystery of that strange east- 
ern land speaks to us through this 
“Son of the Desert.” We feel sure that 
he has found his way over burning, shifting 
sands to this little oasis with its rocks and 
trees behind which he has peered sus- 
piciously for hidden enemies. Perhaps he 
is carrying some important message to his 
sheik. At any rate his anxious face and 
ready weapon show that he “goes softly 
like one in fear of his life.” May he 
escape all the dangers of the way and 
reach his master in safety ! 






The Dog of Today 



— From painting by Landseer 

Since old Mother Hubbard 
Went to her cupboard 
To get her poor dog a bone, 

No dog that is wise 
And uses his eyes, 

H as trusted in cupboards alone. 



The modern dog just asks another 
To treat him as he would a brother. 

He sits up straight on two hind legs. 
Holds up his paws and sweetly begs: — 

“ Unless you have a heart of stone. 

Please share with me that luscious bone.” 




Jack’s Story 


I T happened just after 
dinner. The cook had 
given me a large bone which 
I had buried on the lawn 
by the carriage house. 

Then I lay down by the 
library fire for my afternoon 
nap, and was just dozing off 
when I heard Jim, the 
grocer’s dog, barking. Of 
course, I knew what that 
meant, for, though Jim has 
hardly one good point, and 
is so common^ there isn’t a 
dog on our street keener 
at finding bones. Sol 
gave one jump, and — well, 

that’s all, because, you — From painting by Landseer 

see, I had been dreaming — but I can not understand why someone always says:— “Come, Jack, old dog, 
wake up,” just as I am about to properly punish that dog, Jim. 

MORAL — 'Tis said every dog has his day^ 

When it certainly would seem 
That what a dog really wants 
Is time to finish his dream. 




H ow the Tam O’Shanter Grew 




■ 


"‘-r'isiL. 

’ -HW 


“There isn’t much that I don’t know,” 
Cried a little boy of Long Ago, 
“Nothing at all that I can’t do. 

Why I can knit as well as you ! ’ ’ 

And knit he did, this lad of ten. 

Knit as far as the heel — and then — 

“I could keep right on if I wanted to 
And do it just as well as you.” 


“ But a stocking’s so common,” he archly said, 
“ I’ll make something new to wear, instead. 
And when it’s done you’ll wonder how 
We’ve lived without them until now.” 


— From painting by JVunsch 

So, dear, when you go out to play 
On any frosty winter day. 

Over your head, so full of fun. 

You pull on a stocking — that isn' t dotie. 

The reason for it is plain to see, 

’Tis very sad as you’ll agree. 

For this little boy of Long Ago 
Couldn’t knit on the heel and toe. 


A Morning Call 



Every bird is stirring, ’tis growing late to-day, 

One little girl is sleeping, dreaming the hours away. 
Dreaming of dollies splendid, and other pretty things. 
Of waving poppies growing, of how the robin sings. 


— From painting by Barber 

Over her bends her lover, trying so hard to say : — 

“ Come, come from the land of dreams, into our world of play. 
The sun is brightly shining, and life is very sweet — 

Only a playmate lacking to make the day complete. 



You’re No Chicken 



— From painting by Paton 

WHAT THE CHICKEN THOUGHT 
U\YTiiAT a hideous thing ! How cold and slippery he looks, and 
see how his great eyes bulge ! He must have swallowed a 
stone with his meal and choked himself, though how it could happen 
with a mouth like that is more than I can see. And why doesn’t the 
creature sit up ” 



WHAT THE FROG THOUGHT 
.<^T_JERE are two queer monsters on stilts looking at me with their 
miserable little eyes. What sharp noses they have, all ready to 
be poked into other people’s business ! And how inconvenient such 
clothes must be ! They look heavy for swimming, and how the dirt 
must stick when the monsters come ashore ! Oh, I’m glad I’m not 
made like that ! Ker-chug ! ’ ’ 


Did you ever think how queer we may sometimes look to other people ? 




To the Pasture 



— From painting by Dupre 

W E are told that country boys and girls have a fine chance to study birds and flowers while going to 
or coming from pasture with the cows, but the girl in the picture does not seem to find much 
time to commune with nature. As soon as the cow came within sight of her old friends she grew 
anxious to tell them the news. It is not even a case such as we find in some primers of “ Does the girl 
lead the cow, or does the cow lead the girl ? ” There is no doubt about it, the cow leads the girl, and a 
lively chase she is leading her, over the meadow and through the brook. Do you know the reason ? 
The Cow took a Prize at the Fair and W ants to Tell the Neighbors. 







Puss in Boots 


“ Hammocks and couches and chairs 
Are all good places to rest, 

So warm and soft and cozy, 

You hardly know which is best.” 

“ But if I had really to choose 
I’d just say this to you - 
The nicest place in all the world 
Is in my master’s shoe.” 




A Real Live Tail 

T ABBY’S two babies, Rastus and Toddlekins, 
had played tag until they were tired of it, so 
Tabby said “ Come with me into the library and I 
will read to you from a book that has a wonderful 
tale all about cats and kittens and rats.” Toddle- 
kins asked, “What is a rat?” but Mrs. Tabby 
only smiled and said — “ I will bring you one when 
you are older.” 

When they reached the library. Tabby heard a 
rustle on the desk and she noiselessly jumped on 
the books and looking over the one in which was 
the wonderful tale of cats and rats, she saw, what do 
you think ? — a real live tail ! Rastus scrambled over 
a chair onto the desk, while Toddlekins climbed up 
the curtain to get there. When Mistress gets 
home, she will wonder what scratched the chair 
and desk and tore the little holes in the curtain. 




— From painting by Ronner 





— From painting hy Gardner 


Two Mothers 


Now close your eyes, 

Don’t be too wise, 

I’ll give you a riddle true — 

Shut them up tight. 

Keep out the light. 

Until my story’s through. 

It’s not to eat 

Tho’ something sweet. 

We’ll play that ’tis a mother — 
Two with the same 
Dear lovely name. 

But one’s not like the other. 

One you may choose 
And one refuse. 

You do not know which to take ^ 
Just listen now. 

I’ll tell you how, 

And then you’ll make no mistake. 

Be careful, pray. 

This is the way. 

Open your eyes very quick. 

It all depends, 

Mv little friends. 

On whether you’re child or chick. 



Thoroughbred 

T his pretty girl is named Rose, and she 
has been for a ride on Brown Bess with 
Fritz and Don scampering beside them. Just 
as Fritz went over a stone wall to look for a 
squirrrel, a big drum boomed suddenly and a 
company of soldiers marched around the cor- 
ner. Bess turned sharply and ran like a deer, 
but Rose kept her seat, pulled steadily at the 
reins and cried “Whoa!” Now Rose had 
wisely trained her horse to stop quickly at that 
word, and through her fright the startled 
creature felt the instinct of obedience. Soon 
she stood trembling while Rose praised and 
petted her. When they reached home Bess 
was rewarded by an apple. You can see that 
Rose’s father has taught her how to give 
apples to horses for she holds her hand nearly 
flat, and does not even look to see if Bess will 
bite her. Isn’t it nice to see them such 
good friends ? 



— From painting b)t Hardy 




— From painting by Dupre 

ell, I rather think no boy will milk me I What could his mother be thinking of to let him try? 
VV No cow in France would stand such an indignity. I don’t like the looks of that big stick in his 
hand and if I can keep ahead of it I will. At any rate I’ll lead him a lively dance till his mother is ready to 
milk me, or my name isn’t Suzanne. ” 


The Escaped Cow 


The Upside D own Bird 



Can it be, my boys, you haven’t heard 
Of a most peculiar kind of bird 
Whose head so much resembles his feet 
That it makes a puzzle hard to beat? 
Now just turn the picture upside down 
(This bird is far too polite to frown) 
Then tell me, youngsters, isn’t it true 
That his head would nicely fit a shoe ? 


— From photograph of Ostrich Farm, California 

The neck makes a splendid leg, you see. 
Joining the foot like bark on a tree ; 

The leg curves gracefully to the toe. 
Which has now become a head, you know. 
This bird is not only strange, but wise. 

To give up his toes for two more eyes! 
Now isn’t this a bit confusing, 

Or do you find it just amusing? 


And how do you think a bird would feel 
If it had two heads and but one heel ? 



— From painting hy Landseer 


My Dog 

The task may be heavy, the day be dark, 
But I hear at the close your joyous bark. 
Tho’ friends prove false, and all else fail. 
One thing is certain — the wag of your tail. 
For many years you’ve been to me 
As loyal a lover as dog can be. 

With never a hint in your honest eyes 
Of doubt or anger or surprise ; 

Asking that no thanks be said. 

Save my hand upon your head. 

For faith so fine and a heart so true, 

O dog of mine — I honor you. 





The Singing School 


“ Cupid has come to town, you know,” 

All of the birds are saying so, 

“To teach our children how to sing — 

Now isn’t that the queerest thing?” 

The foolish sparrows frown and say, 

“ Our children shan’t be taught that way. 

By a roguish boy with a curly head. 

We’ll have them learn at home, instead.” 

But other birds with coats of blue. 

In voices low and sweet and true 
Reply, “We think you’re doing wrong; 

Our babies shall have the gift of song. ” 

********* 

Now this is why the bluebird sings 
Of hope, and joy, and many things 
Which in the sparrow’s note we miss 
(’Twas a little bird that told me this.) 

The secret you may whisper low. 

If anyone asks you why you know 

When bluebirds sing from the trees above. 

Their wonderful teacher’s name was — LOVE. 



— From painting by Gill 



In the Wee Sma’ Hours 



— From painting by Ronner 

Whenever a kitten sleeps through the day, 
You may be quite sure it’s planning to play 
With a merry crowd late into the night, 
While your little eyes are shut very tight. 
When there isn’t a sound in all the house. 
But everything’s as still as a mouse. 

Then cats of every variety 
Make ready to enter society. 


Even the kittens appear in full dress ; 

The favorite game is usually chess. 

More vigorous playing never was seen. 

They storm the castle and capture the queen. 
The king falls down at the stroke of a paw. 
What each player wills to do — is the law. 

And you’ve never seen them, O sleepy-head. 
Because you’ve been snugly tucked in your bed. 




In the Springtime 


■>^‘ 

■ 


— From painting by Mauve 

TyTH AT a beautiful Spring day for the great event of going out to pasture ! So clearly does the scene stand out 
^ that we almost think we are right behind the moving flock. The warm sun streams down on the white-fleeced 
backs and the shadows tell us that it is nearly noon. The mother sheep trudge along peacefully for they dimly 
remember the juicy grasses of the upland field across the marsh, but the little lambs wabbling on unsteady legs are not 
so happy. And one is so tired that the good man carries him. 


The Helping Hand 



When rosy clouds are saying good night 
To the setting sun in the west. 

Grandpa comes in from the fishing grounds. 
Rowing home from his work to rest. 

Close by his side sits a tiny lass. 

Her feet barely touch the floor. 

So slight a thing she can scarcely hold 
Her baby hands on the oar. 


With hair tucked snugly under her cap. 
She looks so sweetly quaint. 

That were it not for her pinafore. 
You’d call her a very saint. 


— From painting by RenouJ 
The older children are waiting 
To greet him from the shore. 

And every year this Grandpa says 
He loves them more and more. 

But the little girl that rows him home. 
While the sun sinks low in the west. 
And rosy clouds are saying good night. 
Is the one he loves the best. 



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